


Monsters Inside Us

by Luka z Rivii (wayward_dream)



Series: 500 Milestone Prompts [13]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Blood, F/M, Implied Past Assault, Reader attac, Sexist Language, Stabbing, geralt protec, nothing too graphic tho, sexist slurs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:53:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23675680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wayward_dream/pseuds/Luka%20z%20Rivii
Summary: People can bring out the worst in us. Or the best, depending on how you look at it.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Reader
Series: 500 Milestone Prompts [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1686445
Kudos: 65





	Monsters Inside Us

People had been muttering since you and Geralt had sat down together in the tavern. He’d heard every curse and slur, but - he was with you, so ignoring it was easy.

And then they started muttering about  _ you, _ and he went rigid, shooting a glare at the man sitting at the man who had dared to call you the “monster’s slut”. He had the gall to smirk at Geralt, raising his glass in a mock toast.

Geralt was halfway out of his seat before he had made the decision to move, only pausing when he felt your hand on his wrist. He kept his narrowed gaze fixed on the smirking bastard, rage simmering through his veins.

“Geralt?” you asked quietly, squeezing his wrist. “Geralt, love, what’s the matter?”

“Be grateful that you can’t hear what I’m hearing,” Geralt growled, a muscle in his jaw ticcing from how hard he was clenching his teeth.

He heard the quiet intake of your breath, and in his periphery he saw you turn to follow his gaze.

“What did he say?” you asked evenly. Geralt might have been fooled if he couldn’t smell the rage building in your scent. He finally broke his stare to glance down at you, frowning at how tense you were. He touched your shoulder, a silent question, and you exhaled hard as the tension drained away. You leaned into his touch, drawing comfort he was happy to provide. “He and I have….a history,” you murmured, hugging yourself.

Geralt processed for a few moments, before the unusually timid tone and the faint trace of pain and fear threading through your scent clicked for him. He couldn’t contain his low snarl and moved to step around you, eyes snapping up to fix on the man who was now standing, making his way over to the two of you.

“Don’t,” you begged him quietly, latching onto his arm. “Please, let’s just leave--”

“No.  _ Hell _ no. Absolutely not,” Geralt growled. “Not until I deal with him.”

“Geralt--”

“Long time no see, Y/N,” a drawling voice interrupted you. Geralt hated how you flinched away, instinctively putting his arm around you, drawing you protectively against his side as he glared at the man. He hated even more the hungry, possessive look in his eyes as he looked you over.

“Stay away from her,” Geralt warned in a low voice.

The man’s eyes snapped to Geralt and he was stupid enough to smirk. “I always wondered where she ran off too. Thought she might have been snapped up by some bored lord, but no, she’s not good enough to be someone’s  _ kept whore, _ too timid for that. What sort of fun do you have with her, Butcher?” he purred and if you hadn’t been shrinking into his side, Geralt would have ripped his head off.

Instead, he tightened his arm around you without moving his gaze from the man. “Don’t talk about her like that.”

“Why? What is she to you? She can’t be  _ important.  _ She’s no one, and besides - we all know Witchers don’t  _ feel _ ,” he sneered.

If he’d been prepared, Geralt could have grabbed you in time. But he wasn’t expecting it, so you managed to slip from under his arm and launch yourself at the man with an enraged shriek. The man staggered as your full weight hit him, swearing as your fingernails raked down his face, reaching up to grab onto your wrist. He smirked at you despite the blood welling on his face from where you’d clawed him.

“What’s this? You suddenly grow a spine, Y/N? That’s not very like you,” he sneered, holding your wrist as you struggled, and Geralt saw red.

He whipped out his sword and held it against the man’s neck, the blade digging in just shy of drawing further blood. “If you want to keep that hand,” Geralt said, the low rumble of his voice dark and rich with the promise of violence, “you’re going to take it off of her right now.”

His eyes met Geralt’s and he flinched away from whatever he saw there. He looked down at you, and spoke in a voice of quiet menace as he released you. “You won’t always have your guard dog around to protect you, Y/N.”

You were shaking, breath hitching in your lungs like it did when you were trying not to cry. Geralt wanted to comfort you, but you were still standing far too close to the man for him to feel okay dropping his guard.

He was so focused on the man he didn’t feel you stealing the dagger from his thigh holster, didn’t register the blur of your motion until the man screamed in pain and staggered away, clutching the hilt sticking out of his chest. You were screaming insults and curses and looked ready to go after him again, so Geralt sheathed his sword and wrapped his arm around your waist, lifting you up as you kicked and struggled.

“You want to hurt her? Just try it.” Geralt felt a feral grin stretch his lips as he spoke over your hysterics. “Try it, and see how it works out for you.”

Geralt carried you out after that, wanting privacy so he could make sure you were okay. You went still as soon as the door of the tavern shut behind him, shuddering and gasping in his arms. You twisted to hide your face in his chest, and he gathered you up, holding your legs as you wrapped your arms around his neck. He pretended he couldn’t hear you crying as he carried you to the inn where he was renting a room. He kicked the door open and then shut behind him, sitting you gently on the bed.

You sniffled and rubbed your eyes, looking up at him nervously like you were waiting to be scolded.

Geralt knelt down, carefully wiping away a bit of the man’s blood that had spattered your face before sliding the sleeve of your dress up so he could inspect where the man had grabbed you. Already bruising. Clucking his tongue, Geralt pressed a kiss lightly to the tender skin before standing and going to fetch his bag where he kept his supplies. 

He felt your eyes on him as he gathered a salve, a washcloth, and fished some ice out of the pitcher on the table. He stayed silent until he was kneeling between your legs again, opening the jar of salve and coating his fingers.

“Sweetie, what were you thinking?” he asked softly. He felt your subtle flinch but didn’t look up from gently massaging the salve into your skin. “I could have handled that. You didn’t have to--”

“I won’t stand idly by while people say those things about you,” you interrupted in an unsteady voice.

Geralt finally met your eyes, trying to keep his expression neutral. “Words can’t hurt me, dove. I’d rather you didn’t put yourself in harm’s way--”

“And I’d rather you not lie to me,” you snapped. Geralt stared at you, his teeth clicking as he snapped his jaw shut, eyes narrowing at you. You looked away, shoulders hunching and he exhaled roughly. 

“Y/N--” he started.

“I’ll pay to replace your dagger--”

“Don’t,” he said harshly. “Don’t make this about that, you know I don’t give a damn--”

“I don’t see why you’re so  _ mad--” _

_ “Because I hate seeing you hurt!” _

The two of you had been talking over each other, louder and louder until he almost roared that last sentence, stunning you into silence.

Your eyes were glossy with tears as you looked at him again, and something in him broke. He’d made you cry.

_ Damn it. _

Gently brushing his thumb under your eye to wipe away a stray tear, he spoke much more quietly. “I could smell how afraid he made you, and I hated it. But not nearly as much as I hated seeing his hand on you, seeing the mark he left in your flesh. I can’t stand to see you hurt, dove. What would I do if I were to lose you, hm?”

Further tears spilled over before you launched yourself at him, sobbing into his neck. Burying his face in your hair, Geralt held onto you tight and let you cry as much as you needed.

He wasn’t sure how long it was, but you were calmer when you pulled back to look at him with red-rimmed y/e/c eyes, lashes spiky and damp with tears. He held your face and you exhaled shakily, shutting your eyes. He pressed a kiss to each of your eyelids and your hands lifted to hold onto his wrists.

Your voice was a scratchy whisper when you spoke. “You say words don’t hurt you, but that’s a lie. I know it hurts you, what they say about you. It makes you feel shame, makes you hate yourself, and I hate that, because you deserve so much better. I will never allow anyone to get away with saying such things about you in my hearing, and I won’t apologize for protecting you.” Your words were stubborn, but when you opened your eyes they were bruised-looking and fragile.

Geralt sighed roughly. “I’m not….that’s not what I’m asking, dove. And later we’re going to talk about how I’m impressed that you managed to steal my dagger without my noticing. But….dove, what they say can’t hurt me in a way that causes actual damage, and I wouldn’t see you in harm’s way for me.”

You touched his jaw, your lower lip wobbling again. “Seeing you hurt hurts me, Geralt.”

Geralt heaved a sigh. “What a pair we are. What are we going to do?”

“Protect each other?” you murmured in a small voice. Geralt smiled, kissing your forehead.

“That, at least, will be no problem for me. I’ll always protect you. Now, let me take care of you.” You nodded and Geralt finished applying the salve, then sat on the bed next to you and held you in his arms as he set the ice pack on his arms. You settled on his lap with your head on his shoulder, and gradually your breathing evened out until you were asleep in his arms.

Breathing in the calmness of your scent and listening to the slow rhythm of your heart, Geralt felt his own tension ease away. He tucked a stray lock of hair away from your face, and as he looked at the small smile curling your face in sleep, he felt content basking in the peace he shared with you in this quiet moment.


End file.
